How Batman Saved Superman
by SupermansBatman
Summary: John holds self-loathing, Punk holds guilt. Maybe this Christmas the two will figure out they're both a part of a burden received in 1986. Maybe this Christmas Punk will bring John out of the mental hell he's been living in for 27 years. Cena/Punk slash. (TRIGGER WARNING.) A/N: It's not all dark, I promise. ღ
1. Comics

_Okay so the first two chapters of this story are going to be short and in the past. I promise the chapters following them will be long and in the present. Reviews are welcomed and very much appreciated! -Lex ღ_

* * *

**October 28****th****, 1986**

Punk was a curious little shit. Here he was, in the bushes, peaking through the metal fence that divided his house from Old Mr. and Mrs. Cena. They had relatives that were still alive? Who knew? A Mercedes-Benz had pulled into their driveway. A thirty-some old looking woman and her husband came out of the car, along with a boy who looked close to Punk's age. The boy stopped in his tracks and the woman groaned as she used all her valor to make him move.

"I'm not going anywhere!" He stomped his feet. Punk grinned. The boy was stubborn, just like him. He could like this kid.

"John, you're not doing this right now. We have to go visit Grandma and Grandpa." After much resistance, John finally gave in. They somehow managed to get into the house.

Punk chuckled a bit, and then went on his way to go get his bike and ride it. The bike was lying on the driveway, since Punk had left it there when he rode earlier. He hopped on it and was on his way, gliding like a plane down the street. Liberation was something a boy like him craved since his world was so restricting and hellish. The bike was temporary relief from the confinements of his life. For an eight year old, he should be able to do so much more. But his family lacked the money and in life, money is needed to do anything.

This fall though, things seemed to be going on the up and up. Well, sort of. His parents, or his mother rather, managed to save up some money to get him a Halloween costume. An _actual_ costume, not a makeshift one with toilet paper and duct tape. It was Batman, his favorite superhero. He imagined how the night would go. He would run around the neighborhood, his cape flying in the wind, bombarding all the houses and getting as much candy as possible. Yeah, things were looking good.

He drove so fast, too fast. The bike started quivering and eventually he fell flat on his butt. Punk grumbled, more pissed off than anything. What a way to ruin the moment. Punk froze; he felt a hand on his shoulder. In a blink of an eye, his irritation was replaced with trepidation.

"That was quite a fall there, Champ." Punk forced himself to look up and noticed it was Mr. Stiles, the coach of his little league baseball team. He was always a distant guy. No one really knew about his personal life. Punk thought he was creepy. Mr. Stiles stuck out his hand. Although hesitant, Punk took it and his coach lifted him off the ground.

"Thanks." He mumbled rather hastily, and got on his bike. He shook his head, trying to forget about what just happened. He didn't like that guy. Not one bit. Punk's dad still insisted Mr. Stiles was a good man. He knew his dad was wrong; there was something off about the guy.

When Punk got home, his mom was dressed up. Now, this is an unusual sight. She never gets fancy. One, she doesn't have the money to buy anything nice. Two, she would much rather be casual.

"What's up with the outfit, Ma?" She smoothed out the creases of her dress and shrugged.

"The Cena family invited us over for dinner. Their relatives are going to be there as well and they look sort of ritzy so I decided to gussy up. Which reminds me, go put something nice on." He groaned. Why did he have to go?

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, Phillip."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a good reason."

"Don't be a smart ass, young man. Now go get dressed or no Halloween for you. Understood?"

"Fine, Mom." He reluctantly said, going off to find something decent. What was it with his mother's need to put a façade on with everyone? They were poor as fuck, why lie to people about it? He found something decent, eventually. A collared hand-me-down was good enough. He came out of his room and showed his mom the outfit he picked out. She OK'd it, and soon they were out of the house, making their way to the Cena's.

Punk's mother rang the doorbell. Old Mrs. Cena opened the door; a soft smile was plastered across her face.

"Hello, Mrs. Brooks. Hello, little Phillip." She ruffled Punk's hair and he scrunched up his nose.

"Hi, Mrs. Cena." Punk's mother said.

"The food is almost ready. Make yourself feel at home." A pleasant aroma attacked their noses as they entered the house. Mrs. Cena knelt down to Punk's level.

"You know, my son has a boy just about your age. And do you know what I think? You two could be pretty good friends. You should go talk to him; he's in the guest room. He's a sweet kid; I think you'll like him." Punk nodded, and went on his way to go find the guest room. He opened it up, and there sat the boy from earlier, John. Punk chose to be quiet for a little bit, not really in the mood to talk to anyone, regardless of the blue eyes that were practically glued to him. He sat on the couch, and pulled out his latest comic— _Superman/Batman Volume 9: Night & Day. _He was completely invested in this comic, loving the idea of two very opposite superheroes working together to fight crime.

"I love that one! _Public Enemies_ was pretty good, but that one tops the whole series!" The sudden outburst from John almost made Punk jump, but instead he nonchalantly looked up at the blue eyed boy with an almost smile.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Dimples sliced the cheeks of John.

"I'm Jonathan by the way, John for short." Punk chuckled lightly.

"I'm Phillip, Phil for short." John sat crisscrossed on the bed, and soon Punk joined him and did the same. They ended up in a conversation about all sorts of things— comic books, TV shows, movies, WWF, ghosts and legends.

"Thankfully, there are no cases of strange creatures in Boston." They had just finished talking about Punk's 'mysterious' forest next to his house. Honestly, Punk was just telling him this tale to yank his chain. John and Punk talked so smoothly like they knew each other forever. Punk liked that, having someone to talk to.

"Hey, John, how long are you staying?"

"Until next week. Why?"

"That's perfect! You know what would be fun? If we went ghost hunting in the woods on Halloween." John grinned.

"Yeah! That'd be so much fun, Phil! I'll ask my mom if I can go trick-or-treating with you." This time, Punk actually smiled. This kid was a spitfire, truly. And silently, he thanked Old Mrs. Cena.

"Boys! Dinner's ready!" Old Mrs. Cena called, and the two famished boys rushed to the dining room table. They sat adjacently, wanting to continue engaging in the conversation they honestly didn't want to end.

As food is passed around, as two families that are mere acquaintances talk like they possess the same blood, and as Punk watches John with pure amusement; the green eyed boy realizes Halloween, and perhaps the rest of his life from this point on, was going to make up for eight years of crap.

He felt it, somewhere in the depths of his newly optimistic heart.


	2. Halloween

**October 31****st****, 1986**

He felt so _cool. _The colors gray and black rested on his skin, the color yellow plastered on the cotton belt around his waist. His face was covered by a plastic black mask. He was _Batman. _Punk couldn't stop looking in the mirror. That was, of course, until his mother called for him to hurry up; John was waiting in the living room. _John_— who has kept his costume a secret from Punk. He had to know what it was, he was eager to find out. He ran out into the living room and his mouth dropped, soon to convert into a grin. John was Superman! How perfect! John looked up and soon his expression matched Punk's.

"This wasn't even planned!" John exclaimed.

"I know!" Punk said. His mother laughed, and shook her head.

"This is too cute; I have to take a picture before we go." Punk groaned, but didn't feel like protesting. She picked up the Polaroid on the kitchen counter. "Stand next to each other. And Phil, smile for once will you?" He rolled his eyes. John went to stand next to Punk and naturally, a smile and dimples appeared on the blue eyed boy's face. Punk, reluctantly, smiled as well. John placed his fists on the sides of his hips and posed like Superman. Punk, trying to top John, curled his biceps and puffed up his chest. The camera snapped the picture and soon, they were on their way outside. John's mom and dad were just walking up Punk's driveway.

"Hey guys! Are you ready for some candy?" John's mom asked. The boys shouted yes in unison.

The night started off well. They all walked around the houses, getting a large quantity of candy (Punk claims the reason for this is John's dimples) and laughed till their stomachs were aching. As Punk had envisioned, he and John ran together so fast they made their capes fly in the wind. They saw many houses with spine-chilling decorations. One house was set up sort of like a haunted house, and there was fog consuming the grass. Punk dared John to go in it, but he declined. Being Punk, he forced John to go. As he cautiously walked up to the door, the guy giving out candy jumped out with a Michael Myers mask and scared John half to death. The Chicago boy felt bad, but he laughed like an asshole regardless. They continued normally to house and house, until John had an inquiry for his parents.

"Mom, Dad, can Phil and I, uh… Go on our own for a little bit? We promise to stay in this neighborhood."

"Yeah, we promise. I know this little place. We won't get lost or wander off." Punk added. The parents all looked at each other and thought silently until Mr. Cena finally spoke.

"Only if it's okay with Phil's mom."

"I guess you two boys can go but you better stay together, don't go off somewhere you aren't supposed to." They thanked their parents and hugged them tightly, then were off on their way to the woods, hoping to find 'ghosts.'

"Where are the ghosts in the woods, Phillip?" John asked, timidly and quietly. The boys were nearing the tall trunks that had darkness in their gaps.

"Somewhere in the heart of the forest, John Boy."

Venturing into the unknown, Punk was the first to enter the woods. John soon followed, stealthily. They walked around for about thirty minutes searching and searching, with a few shares of silliness to go along with it.

"I feel like there is something watching us, Phil." Punk sighed; this kid was a scaredy cat.

"Don't worry, John. The ghosts only come after kids like me, bad kids."

"You're not bad." Punk didn't respond, he only rolled his green eyes. A grin graced his face; an idea hit him like a lightning bolt.

"Hey, you know what? Maybe we should split up, yeah? Then we can find the ghosts faster." Yeah, maybe he was taking it far. But this is Punk, and Punk takes things far.

"Yeah, we should! Then maybe we can find them out once and for all. I'll go left, and you go right."

"Okay, sounds good. Yell if you see anything."

"Gotcha, Phillip." And once John walked away, a very unsettling feeling rumbled in his stomach. Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Who knew what lingered in these woods? He stood in the middle, his heart thumping, the only sound heard in the uneasy silence. He waited, waited to hear John.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Time passed and Punk couldn't take it anymore. The uncertainty and the remorse clouded his mind.

Then he heard a sound that would play in his mind for the rest of his damned life.

"PHILLIP! HELP_— STOP TOUCHING ME!" Oh God. _In nanoseconds Phillip Brooks resembled a cheetah, a race car, anything and everything that was faster than the human body was supposed to go. He followed the voice, tried to follow the voice. He fought his way through the maze of the forest, the black of night making this fight harder than it was originally. The cries were unbearable, and Punk never felt shittier than he did in this moment.

Punk found John, though, eventually. He found him in a position that made Punk sick to his stomach. John was naked and bloody, dirt tainted every inch of his skin. Punk's aloof coach Mr. Stiles towered over the helpless Superman.

"Get _away_ from him, Coach." Punk snarled, trying with all his might to own up to his brave persona. The coach laughed.

"Why, possessive aren't you, Phillip. You can join the party if you'd like?" Punk lost it. He found a huge stone and pelted it at the coach. Mr. Stiles was knocked out cold, but Punk knew this would be temporary. He hurried to put John's costume back on. Punk picked up John bridal style and the little Superman curled his head in the chest of a little Batman.

* * *

Stumbling out of the forest, Punk was greeted by police, ambulance, and his and John's family. So many questions were asked, so many tears were shed, and so much guilt lingered inside Punk's chest. His only friend, he ruined.

"I'm so sorry, John boy." He whispered, looking down at the sleeping eight year old. "I was just messing around; there are no ghosts in the woods."


	3. Nightmares

_Thank you so much for the reviews! The response to my story is overwhelming and I am so happy people like it! Sorry for the wait, I will try to post every Sunday if I can but if not then every other Sunday. Feedback is appreciated and welcomed! –Lex_ _ღ_

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**December 16****th****, 2012**

**_FLIGHT: BOSTON – TIME: 2:35 PM – STATUS: CANCELLED— GATE: C14_**

John stared dumbfounded at the monitor before him. _Cancelled? _The one time he gets to go home and see his family for an extended period of time is swept away from him by fucking airplane troubles. He sighed and buried his head in his hands, so much for a merry Christmas.

"Sucks like a bitch, doesn't it John Boy?" John rolled his eyes, already knowing the person behind him had a grin settled on his face. John turned around to see his sarcastic coworker.

"Laugh it up, Punk." John really wasn't in the mood for his shit. Groaning, he went to go walk back to his seat and drown his sorrows with music, but Punk had other plans. Punk stopped him in his tracks, creating a barricade with his arm. The Chicago boy sighed.

"I'm only yanking your chain, Cena. I know how important family is to you. Hey, how about we grab some Starbucks? If we have any mutual quirks, it's being coffee fiends." For an instant, John's eyes lit up. Coffee sounded really intriguing. The light vanished just as it had appeared, because no amount of Starbucks could fix his current dilemma. Nevertheless, he couldn't refuse the offer. Soon he and Punk were off to get some coffee.

They ordered their usuals and took a seat. Eventually, after many awkward slurps of the hot liquid, they begin to engage in conversation. They talked about casual things, such as the weather and their jobs. Evidently, John was off throughout the different topics, and Punk noticed. Who could blame the guy, though? His family was the most important element of his life and was the only thing that could temporarily clear his cluttered mind. His mom, his dad, and even his idiotic but lovable brothers kept him as sane as he could possibly be, regardless of how long this sanity lasted. As soon as John finished a mumbled sentence, Punk used the age-old sympathy phrase to try to cheer John up.

"It could be worse." John glared at him.

"What could possibly be worse, Punk?" _He was so right, _Punk thought. _There's nothing worse. _There had to be some way he could make this right. He felt it was his duty. A Boy Scout like John shouldn't be allowed to frown, he believed there should be some sort of law to prevent this. Punk got caught in a trance as he fell into deep thought. Could John stay with him? That was an option. He wouldn't mind. The house was pretty empty anyway. Pros and cons clouded his mind until the pros were prevalent and the cons were weaklings.

"Okay, so you can't spend Christmas with your family. The flights cancelled, another flight won't be available for a long time, and basically Boston isn't in any fucking solution to this problem."

"And your point is?"

"Well, I was thinking; what if Chicago is the solution?"

"Chicago? As in me staying with you in _Chicago_ for a month?" Punk nodded slowly.

"Yeah. I mean it's not like I have a girlfriend to disturb your restless sleep or anything. And besides, it would be nice to have some company." John chuckled, shaking his head gently.

"Why fucking not? I'll come to Chicago with you. I mean, we may not be best friends but we get along most of the time. What time's your flight?"

"3:30. We got like twenty minutes to kill. So you're in? Because I don't want to be 40,000 feet in the air and have you change your mind." John snorted.

"Jesus, you make it seem like a drug deal. Yeah, I'm 'in'. You have to promise to get me a present though. If you don't I'll jump out of that plane." Green eyes rolled.

"Maybe. Spending time with me should be a present already but whatever."

"As if. But really, thanks. I may not have my family with me for Christmas, but at least I have someone there."

"No problem." John pulled out his phone, hastily dialing in a familiar number.

"That reminds me, I need to call them. Tell them what happened." It rang, and it rang. Finally the person on the other end answered. "Hi, Mom. I know, I know. First time ever. Listen, about that. My flight got cancelled. I… I don't think I'll be there at Christmas this year. I'm so sorry, Mom. Yes, yes. Tell everyone I love them and I'll see them when I get the chance. I love you too, Mom. So much. Maybe next year, yeah? Bye." He hunched his back and sighed heavily. _That was rough. _He could literally hear how heartbroken she was.

Green eyes were glued to the mess in front of him. Who would've thought? The one who seemed to be the happiest still had darkness beneath him, just like everyone else. Punk reached over to John and patted his shoulder.

"I promise you the best damn Christmas ever, John. I promise. Now come on, let's go walk around for a bit. I'll tell you about that one time I threw up on someone in the audience because I had the flu and still fucking wrestled." John laughed.

"The indies I'm guessing?"

"Hell yeah."

* * *

Twenty minutes flew by, and soon they were both settled into the plane. Punk called the window seat like a five-year old, and John didn't oblige. As soon as John sat down, he put his headphones on. Punk got quite talkative when he was bored. Punk knew John probably didn't want to be bothered, so he allowed him to relax. He just sat there, watching John as music blared through his Beats. Every song, Punk could hear. He studied the lyrics and was surprised that it wasn't all generic rap and country songs. _Something is scratching its way out, something you want to forget about._ Punk eventually fell asleep, his head resting against the window.

* * *

"Well those four hours went faster than expected." Punk said groggily, the voice from the overhead waking him up. There was no longer light outside of the window, the black of a Chicago night had engulfed the Californian afternoon sky.

"Easy for you to say." John mumbled, taking off his headphones. Punk didn't make out what he said, so he just let it be. They made their way off of the airplane and went through the usual customs people go through at airports.

After they got their luggage (a search that took longer than desired), they made it to their rental car. The big black SUV wasn't hard to find and pretty soon they were on Chicago streets.

"Want to go grab some dinner? I know this great mom and pop restaurant by the house." Punk asks John.

"Sure." They drove down many streets. John looked out the window the whole time, digesting the city. It was just like every other metropolitan he's been to, but it had this uniqueness that he couldn't put his finger on. John looked like a kid pulling into Disneyland. Maybe because he was tired, or maybe because his inner child had been excavated. Whatever the reason, he was mesmerized.

The two arrived at a little diner and parked at the front.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Nothing, just making sure you were still awake." John rolled blue orbs and got out of the car. Punk followed.

"I'm almost always awake, Punk."

"Look at that, we have another thing in common. Insomnia!"

"What a wonderful thing to share. Let's go eat, I'm starved."

They took a seat in a booth and casually conversed until their waiter arrived. She was middle-aged, seem pretty over worked. She appeared to be the person who hated her job and wanted more than anything to go home.

"I'm Carol and I'll be your waiter tonight. Here's your menus. To start off, what would you like to drink?" Carol said monotonically, handing them the menus.

"Water, please." John said.

"I would like water as well."

"Okay, the drinks will be right with you." She went off to get the waters, leaving the men to figure out what they wanted to eat.

"What are you getting?"

"Probably my usual. Some deep dish cheese pizza."

"I'll get that too. I can't decide on anything." Punk let out an exaggerated gasp.

"You fucking copier!" John chuckled.

"You act like a four-year old sometimes, do you know that?" Punk retorts.

"And you don't?"

"I can't say I don't."

The waiter came back a couple of minutes later with their waters and asked them what they wanted to order.

"A large deep dish cheese pizza, ma'am." John smiled sweetly, making his dimples known to the world. Punk snorted.

"You kiss ass." John gave him a wink.

They eventually got their pizzas and ate. John practically inhaled the pizza because he was so hungry. He had about five slices in ten minutes. Punk, however, actually had to watch what he ate. So he settled on two. Stuffed, John raised his hands in defeat.

"I am _done._ No more." Punk nodded, and ask the waiter for a check.

* * *

"You got a nice fucking place, Punk." It was 9:00 at night, they had just arrived at Punk's house and John was awestruck once again. How could someone so humble and down-to-earth have such an extravagant house?

"Thank you. Uh, you can use any of the extra bedrooms. The one to the left probably has the best bed." John nodded and went to go put his belongings in the room. He came back out and saw Punk on the couch watching TV. John sat next to him.

"Hey, we should watch a movie. What kind of movies do you have?" Punk shrugged.

"Bunches. Horror, action, western. No chick flicks though, if that's what you want." John chuckled.

"Do you have Crank? I love that movie."

"Yep." Punk took the DVD out of the cabinet under the flat screen and put it in. They laughed and talked and got all serious at intense parts. John felt good, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Punk's comments were hilarious, and these comments triggered non stop laughter from John, laughter that makes your stomach hurt, but in a good way and cry, but in a good way. And when those comments stopped, they talked seriously. But it was 'feel good' seriously. They talked so easily, like they had known each other forever. And near the end of the movie they forgot it was even on because they were so lost in each other's company.

"John, you look like you're about to pass out. I would love to talk to you more but I think you could use some sleep." John nodded, and slowly got up.

"Night. Thanks for letting me stay with you again."

"No problem."

* * *

Screams from the guest room broke midnight silence. Green eyes shot open, a heart pounded against ribs. Out of pure instinct, Punk ran out of his room and charged into the guest room John was staying in. He quickly turned on the light and ran to John. He was drenched in sweat, the whole bed was soaked. His big hands clenched the bed sheets as he let out bone-chilling cries. Punk grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

"John! John wake up it's just a dream! It's just a _dream_." The last sentence was said in a mere whisper. He's been here before and he doesn't like the déjà vu.

"He's inside and I can _feel_ him! His hands are all over! Phil save me, please!" _Phil? _How does John know his real name?

"John there's no one there! It isn't real! Please, wake up!" Punk starts shaking him more aggressively.

"There's blood all over! The night is ruined! _I'm_ ruined!" The words escaped his mouth fast, making them almost incomprehensible.

"John! Wake up please!" He ran his hand over John's head repeatedly, trying to soothe him. "It's not real, it's not real."

Panting, John wakes up. Blue eyes are panicked, looking around their surroundings. John looks at Punk, apologetic.

"I am so sorry. I disturbed your sleep." John said softly. Punk's heart collapsed and landed in his stomach.

"It's fine, John. You couldn't control it. We'll talk about this some other time, alright? Just go back to sleep. Everything's okay." John's breathing had come back to normal and he nodded. Punk looked at him once more, then went to shut the lights off and leave the room. As he left, he wondered: was it a nightmare or was it a memory?


	4. Homecoming

_Wow, I am so sorry this took so long. Really. I had midterms and that stressed me out a bunch and then I went on break and it was there I kind of became lazy. Please forgive me! I will be posting more frequently in this year of 2014, promise! And as always, I love receiving feedback. Give me some! – Lex_ღ

* * *

**December 17****th****, 2012**

Since the break was quite long, Punk decided to take some time to visit his mother in the suburbs. Now, he sort of drifted away from his blood family. His father was an alcoholic asshole who spent all of their money on booze and cigarettes, and his brother was a self-righteous prick who only thought about himself. His mother, however, was a saint, the sweetest woman on earth. Even though she was quite blunt, she still nurtured him and made him feel safe. He hadn't seen his mom in so long. It would be nice to drop on in and say hello.

The drive to the suburbs with John was filled with tension. John was embarrassed and scared, so _scared_ and Punk was perplexed. Even the music didn't resolve anything. Usually, that relieves a rigid situation but in this case it didn't. They passed by skyscrapers and pizza shops and everything _Chicago_ as they left the inner-city and began to enter the outskirts of the town. Still, not a word was said. Well, that was until they reached a gas station. They pulled into a pump and Punk began to fill the car up. As he did, he looked into the car and studied John. He was so _broken. _What could have caused such a confident, easygoing guy to become a nervous wreck? What could cause such a man to have nightmares that produce ear splitting screams and cries for help? Punk had to know because if he knew maybe he could save John, save John from whatever ate him alive.

"Hey John, do you want any snacks?" John looked at him for a second but then diverted his eyes to his feet.

"Maybe some candy I guess."

"What's your favorite candy?"

"I don't really-" Punk cut him off.

"John. Everyone has a favorite candy."

"Well, I do enjoy Milkyway."Punk grinned; that was his favorite as well.

"I'll get you some Milkyway. But you'll have to share because I happen to enjoy it too." John gave a small smile.

"Sure." After Punk filled the car up he went into the gas station and got five Milkyways. When he got back into the car, John was softly humming along with the radio.

"Alright, I have five of these bad boys." John rummaged through the plastic bag and took out two of them.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Eventually, they were on the road again. By this time, all the Milkyways were eaten. Four and a half for John, a half for Punk. They talked normally and the silence was no more. But, of course, Punk brought up the night prior.

"What happened last night John?" John's face dropped. His jaw tensed and he felt uneasy. He couldn't say, he could never say.

"It was just a bad dream. Nothing more, nothing less." Punk rolled his eyes.

"Bullshit. Grown men don't just have bad dreams for no reason. Grown men don't have nightmares that cause them to scream at the top of their lungs and drench the sheets with sweat for _no fucking reason._ It's more than that, isn't it? There's more than you're letting on." John dug his nails into his skull.

"Maybe. But there's no way in hell I'm going to tell you." Punk sighed. He had to admit, he felt a bit of a sting with that one.

"Eventually you will have to tell someone. It doesn't matter if it isn't me. Talking is the only way to make it better."

"Nothing will make it better!" John snapped, his voice deafening. Punk jumped; John never had that tone in his voice before. It was so malicious, so hostile. Yet subdued? And frail? It was a strange concoction and Punk didn't like it one bit.

From that point on until they reached Punk's childhood home, silence was prevalent.

* * *

Punk hadn't been there in so long, he almost forgot the corrupt memories that consumed the little community. He suppressed the emotions he's had forever though, and tried to ignore them as he always did. He walked up the familiar driveway and knocked. A black haired woman with a pleasant smile opened the door.

"My baby!" She exclaimed hurriedly hugging her son in a smothering, motherly sort of way.

"Hey, Mom." He chuckled, struggling to breathe due to his mother's embrace.

"It's been so long! How are you?" He shrugged.

"Getting by, Mom. How about you?" She shrugged too.

"I'm doing alright. Did you know your mother has a boyfriend now?"

"No, but I do now. You don't need to go into any further details, thank you." She rolled her eyes.

"I won't. But you should now I'm happier now. And who's that behind you?" She pointed at John and his blue eyes looked up.

"I'm John, ma'am. Nice to meet you." He gave a small smile and a nod.

"Wait, John? Phil, _the_ John?" John's eyebrows fused together in confusion. Punk shook his head.

"God no, Mom. I have no clue where that John is. I wish I did. No, this is my coworker. He wrestles with me." She nodded understandingly.

"Oh, okay. Man, I wonder where that kid is. I hope he's okay." They stood awkwardly for a couple of seconds, until Punk's mother invited them in. Punk took a seat on the couch but John just stood there, frozen.

"John, what are you doing? Come, sit." He patted the spot next to him. John sighed, but sat down Punk reluctantly.

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" Punk's mother called from the kitchen.

"No, I'm good. Thank you for offering though, Mom." John just sat quiet. Not responding at all. Punk's mother came out of the kitchen with a drink in her hand, and sat in a recliner.

"So, tell me about life. Found a girl yet?" Punk laughed sarcastically.

"I don't have time for women right now. I'm pretty busy you know." John snorted, causing him to receive a glare from Punk.

"Hey, it's not my fault you can't find anybody to deal with your shit for too long." Punk hit his arm playfully, a grin on his face.

"You two are too cute. Why don't you give up women all together and take a shot at him?" Punk's face became a deep red.

_"Mom!"_

"It was just a suggestion." He rolled his eyes.

"Ma, do you want to walk around the neighborhood for a bit? I want to show John around."

"Sure. You should show him your room first though, I think he'll get a kick out of that." She winked.

He led John into his childhood room. It was filled with posters of bands, wrestlers, and superheroes. The typical boy room if you will. On his former nightstand, he had some action figures and comics.

"I was such a nerd, Jesus." He chuckled. "What do you think?"

"You were a really big nerd."

"Of the room, asshole." John smirked.

"It's a nerd cave." Punk rolled his eyes.

"You're fucking hilarious, John. Do you know that?" Sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

Something caught John's eye and he went to inspect it. It was a comic— _Superman/Batman Volume 9: Night & Day. _A lump formed in his throat and he hurriedly sat on the bed. It was funny, a stupid little comic triggered memories from the darkest night of his life. It was funny, really, how something so innocent carried something so corrupt. As he flipped through the pages, images, tainted images, replaced the unlikely superhero duo fighting crime. He closed it, unable to withstand it anymore, and sat it next to him. Breathless, he squeezed his eyes shut. Punk stood there, watching him, confused and worried. He didn't see which comic it was, but if he did you can imagine the emotions that it would evoke within him.

"Hey, uh, wanna walk around the neighborhood now?" John nodded in response.

And so they did: Punk, his mom, and John walked around the neighborhood. It was a walk down Nostalgia Lane, even for John, whom had started noticing peculiar familiarity with the location of where he was now and the location of where he was that _night._ Punk showed John a little alleyway (not really) that he used to hide out in when he got in trouble with his mom. Well, it was more than just when he got in trouble with his mom. But the depressing stuff should be kept to yourself, right? He showed John Mr. Walt's house, a house that he would egg every chance he got because Mr. Walt was such a grumpy old geezer. He also showed him where his first girlfriend, Sofia, used to live and the window of her room that he snuck into a million times. As they walked, John noticed the fiery passion in Punk's eyes as he reminisced his teenage and child years on this earth, and it was great. Punk and his mother told stories and the backgrounds of all of the places they saw. Some of the places hadn't changed, some looked completely different. The memories remained the same.

Soon, as with everything in life, they reached the end. It was an impede of trees, coming together to form woods that prevented others from continuing on their journey. Unless, you know, you weren't a scardey cat.

Punk knew he would have to see these woods again, but that didn't take away the swelling in his chest. The sight of those woods was enough to make him vomit; it was certainly the catalyst that made him want to claw his eyes out and detox his brain from messed up memories. He felt pure _guilt,_ like he was the worst human to ever exist. But it wasn't just a little bit of guilt, like that feeling you have when you sneak out of your parent's house to go to a party. No, it was worse. He was _self-condemned._ He yearned to see that boy again, and apologize as many times as he could even if it didn't change what happened.

As for John, he didn't know he would have to see these woods again, so the agony jolted into him without warning. And he knew, he knew this was the place and those were the trees and that was where he lost his innocence, literally and metaphorically. His vision became blurred and he felt suffocated. If the comic made him remember, then these woods put him into a time machine and sent him to that night. He gasped for air; his heart trying to bang against his chest, prayerful for a way out. And so was he, John internally pleaded for a way out of this purgatory. The ominous woods evoked all of his senses: he remembered the _smells_; the _visuals_; the _tastes_; and, especially, the _touch_ that made him want to skin himself. One can only take so much. So he ran, ran down the cul-de-sac and hurried into the passenger seat of the car. Tears streamed down his face and he was no longer John Cena, "Mr. Hustle Loyalty And Respect", he was Jonathan, a boy who went to Chicago in 1986 to visit his grandparents, a boy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. He locked the door. He clawed at his scalp. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to burn his past to ashes.

This breakdown, obviously, did not go unnoticed. Punk reveled from his own murky thoughts and watched as John lost his shit and sprinted down the street. His eyebrows scrunched together and he looked at his mom, in a daze. She nodded in the direction John headed, and he knew she wanted him to see what was wrong with John. So he did. With the current actions of John, and his eerie nightmares of the night before, Punk was extremely worried at this point. Something must' have triggered all of this, because these weren't common behaviors for John Cena.

When he got to the car, John was a mess. He looked like a baby having a tantrum, hot tears and a snotty nose. But it was more intense, and he was breathing as if someone was clenching his neck with their hands. Punk banged on the door.

"John, calm down and open the door." His voice was firm and authoritative, but it wasn't aggressive. John glanced at him, his eyes dark. He calmed down enough to unlock the car, but as soon as Punk opened the door he collapsed. He lost control of his body and his face fell into his hands. And he started sobbing, but it wasn't a first-breakup-sob, it came from a chamber deep inside of him. It was a giving-up-sob, and it made Punk want to hold him and tell him whatever it was it was going to be fine, that things get better. But he _couldn't,_ so he just let out a heavy sigh and stated, "John fucking Cena, I'm not going to just let you slowly die inside. I'm not going to believe you when you say you're fine, because you're not. I'm not going to be those people that ignore it, John. You're getting help, even if I half to drag you there."


End file.
